


Working It Out

by zeldamonkey



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Liam is a personal trainer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldamonkey/pseuds/zeldamonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nick mentioned to Harry that it'd be a shame to let himself get unfit again after all his hard work for Sport Relief, he hadn't meant for Harry to actually do anything about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working It Out

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a discussion about the merits of payneshaw on [lazy daze's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_daze/pseuds/lazy_daze) tumblr

Nick's thighs are screaming at him and he's sweaty as fuck and the only time either of those things are acceptable is when they're the result of some really fantastic, mind-blowing, top notch sex.

Being forced to do literally thousands of lunges by a personal trainer is not the same thing at all.

"Come on, you're nearly there," Liam says, as Nick dares to pause for a second to try to put out the fire burning in his lungs. "Just ten more and we're done with your legs, we can move on to your abs and do some crunches."

Crunches? Fuck, Nick's not going to survive this. He imagines Harry's remorse when he hears the news: _Radio's Nick Grimshaw Found Dead; Popstar Pal Styles Regrets Ill-Advised Gift of Personal Training Sessions_. Okay, so maybe Nick'd casually mentioned it'd be a shame to let himself get unfit again after all the hard work he'd done before Sport Relief, but he hadn't intended to actually do anything about it. It would just have been a shame in the way that Harry is completely uninterested in shagging Nick is a shame: it's sad, but it's just how things are.

"Come on, Grimmy, focus on the lunges," Liam says. He's practically bouncing around Nick, looking hopeful, a bit like Puppy wanting a treat. "You can get deeper than that, I know you can. Only five more to go, let's see you go at them really deep and hard."

Nick lets out a little snigger. It's childish, he knows, but he can't help himself.

"What?" Liam says instantly. "What did I - oh." He actually blushes, which shouldn't be as adorable as it is. "I didn't - I just meant, like, put your back into it - oh!" he stops again as Nick properly loses it, collapsing to the floor in giggles. "No! That's not what I meant!"

Liam's gone bright red and looks mortified, which isn't surprising since Nick's pegged him as the kind of bloke who probably only has silent, lights-off sex under the covers with a girlfriend he's had since Year Eleven. 

"Sorry, sorry," Nick gasps out. "Sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but your _face_."

Liam looks like he's not sure whether to be offended or not. Nick's relieved when he finally cracks a grin - Liam might be a bit proper, but he's Harry's pal, and Nick would hate to have really upset him. "Yeah, yeah, well we don't all have minds as dirty as yours, do we?" he says. "Anyway, since you're on the floor, I guess you can have a bit of a break. Need a drink?"

Nick's parched. "Please. Double vodka tonic, ta."

"Ha, ha," Liam says, passing over Nick's water bottle. He watches Nick drink, then takes the bottle back. "Okay, ready for crunches? I promise not to say anything that you can take the wrong way." 

He's still pink cheeked with embarrassment. Liam's like a big muscly teddy bear, is the thing, and Nick's torn between wishing he wasn't wearing that workout vest so Nick could see how far down the blush goes, and wishing he just wasn't so bloody attractive so Nick didn't feel bad about being a gasping sweaty mess in front of him. 

"Yeah, okay," Nick says, resigning himself to his fate. "Crunches, bring it on."

 

By the end of the hour-long session, Nick thinks he might have actually died. This has got to be one of the circles of hell, drowning in his own perspiration whilst a bloke who looks like Beckham tells him to go harder and deeper. Possibly this is karmic punishment for all the models he's shagged and discarded in his time.

"Well done, Grimmy," Liam says, all sincerity and smiles as he packs up his medicine balls and other instruments of torture. Nick's not staring at Liam's biceps deliberately, he _isn't_ , it's just that every muscle in his body has stopped working and that includes the ones that control his eyes.

"Thanks," he says. He's on the floor again, gasping like a landed fish; it's one of his more attractive looks. "I know I'm crap, though, you can stop being nice."

"No, no," Liam says earnestly, "that was really good for a first session, I promise. How're you feeling?"

Nick's one giant ache, and he gets the feeling it's going to be even worse tomorrow. He pulls a face. "They don't call you Payne for nothing, do they?"

Liam cackles at that like it's absolutely the funniest thing he's ever heard, which is daft because it was pathetic. Even Harry wouldn't have laughed, and he's an overgrown toddler who still finds knock-knock jokes funny.

"Great one, mate!" He picks up his bags like they weigh nothing, when Nick knows there's at least twenty kilos in there, and slings them over his shoulder. "So, same time on Thursday? I think we can really make some progress on your fitness."

Nick had actually been planning to tell him thanks but no thanks, please never make me do that again, but there's something about Liam's hopeful smile that stalls the words in Nick's throat. It'd be like kicking a puppy, disappointing Liam. He just can't do it. "Thursday," he says. That's only three days away, there's no way he'll have recovered from this session, let alone be ready for more. "Great. See you then."

 

It takes Nick a good half hour after Liam leaves to summon the energy to get off the floor and hop into the shower. When he no longer smells like something he'd scrape off the bottom of his shoe, he messages Harry: _liam broke me_ and follows it with three bicep emojis and a crying face.

He doesn't expect a reply; Harry's probably doing an interview or buying another house or shagging a starlet somewhere, but it's only a minute later that his phone rings.

"You met him, then," Harry says in lieu of hello, sounding amused. "What d'you think?"

"I think you're cruel and horrible," Nick says. He's sprawled on his sofa and he thinks he might never move again. "I'm sore in places that I didn't know existed."

"Ooh, really." Harry's crunching on something. He's always eating when he's on the phone. "Was it that good, then?"

"Good? I can't believe people do that for _fun._ "

Harry laughs. "If you're not having fun, Grim, you're doing it wrong."

Nick frowns. "Have you got some strange masochistic tendencies you've been keeping from me? What's fun about stomach crunches? "

"Stomach crunches?" Harry says, now sounding confused. "What are you on about?"

"What are _you_ on about?" Nick shoots back. "I'm talking about your mate Liam? The trainer? Made me do lunges and stomach crunches and run on the spot and other disgusting things?"

"Hmm." Harry takes another big crunch of whatever he's eating, chews and swallows audibly. "He actually made you do all that? Wow. I guess he didn't tell you, then?"

"Tell me what? That I've got chicken legs and I'm so unfit I'll probably die of a heart attack before I'm forty? He didn't need to, it was pretty bloody obvious."

"No, he was meant to tell you - oh, never mind. Look, are you gonna see him again?"

"Thursday," Nick says, miserably. It's only seventy hours away, now. Maybe he can go and sit in an ice bath until then.

"Thursday, good," Harry says. "Okay, when you see him, tell him Harry says to tell you the truth or else, will you?"

"Or else what?" Nick asks, intrigued.

"Just or else," Harry says. "He knows. Oh, fuck, gotta go. Love you, bye!"

 

Nick tries to remember to ask Liam, he really does. It's just that when he opens the door to Liam on Thursday afternoon he's distracted by the way Liam's shoulders move, and how his casually unshaven stubble emphasises the line of his jaw. Has Liam really gotten more good looking since Monday? Is that possible?

"Hey, Grimmy," Liam says, bouncing inside with a big grin on his face. "You mentioned me on the radio!"

"I did?" Nick tries desperately to remember if he'd said anything too embarrassing. There's nothing wrong with having little crushes on straight blokes, he's found, as long as the straight blokes don't find out about it, which had worked better for him as a life strategy before he'd gotten a national radio programme. 

"Yeah!" Liam says. He looks happy, so Nick can't have said anything too incriminating. "Well, I guessed you meant me when Finchy asked what you were up to this afternoon and you said you were gonna be tortured."

At least he hadn't been specific about the sort of torture. He'd meant having to see Liam's biceps again. "I didn't know you listened," Nick says. 

"Of course," Liam says. "I listen every day." He frowns. "Sorry, is that weird to say? You're just - like, you make me laugh."

Nick feels himself flush with pleasure. At least Liam knows he's got some talents, even if he's rubbish at star jumps and having muscles and all of Liam's other favourite things. "Well, we aim to please." 

They stand there smiling at each other for a moment, and then Liam claps his hands together. "Right, so, it's nice and sunny today, I thought we could start with going for a run?"

"Start with," Nick repeats, weakly. He's feeling short of breath already; he should have picked up another puff puff from the chemist. "Great, let's go."

 

By Friday the cumulative effects of two training sessions in one week have left Nick sore in some unusual places. He tries pretending that it's as a result of a particularly athletic shag, but he can't fool himself; his prick would remember if anything more exciting than his hand had been near it. 

There's clearly only one solution: alcohol, and lots of it. He ropes in the girls, plus Ian, and minus Harry, who Nick'd texted to come out but who'd replied with a string of emojis that Nick thought meant he was having a shag, or possibly doing something painful involving eggbeaters. 

It's just gone eleven and Nick's squeezed up to the bar to order some more chilli-vodka-and-watermelons - he loves that stuff, mostly because it's pink - when he spots a familiar face a few metres down. Liam looks exactly the same when he's out as he does when he's torturing Nick with exercise, except he's got a button-up shirt hanging open over his customary vest. As Nick watches, Liam lets not one, but two girls who'd got to the bar after him push in and order their drinks first. He doesn't even look a little bit annoyed by it, just steps aside to let them in. Of course he would. Anyone who thought chivalry was dead hasn't met Liam Payne.

Nick's drinks are just ready when Liam glances across and spots him. Liam breaks into a smile and gives a little cupped-hand wave, which looks quite strange on someone as built as he is, like Rambo trying to imitate the queen. 

Nick should probably just give him a little nod of acknowledgement and be on his way, but it might make Liam sad, and it's that kicked-puppy thing again, Nick just can't do it. He collects his drinks and pushes his way down the bar to Liam, who's still smiling at him.

"Hey, Grim!"

"Hey, you alright? Having a good night?" Nick leans in to brush his customary kiss over Liam's cheek, before he realises that it might be a bit weird, Liam being the blokey-bloke that he is. Whoops.

But Liam doesn't seem bothered, just nods enthusiastically and grins. "Yeah, cheers. Just out with some mates. Hey, you're not here with Haz, are you?"

Nick shakes his head. "Nah, just the girls. Oh, and Ian."

"Ian from the show? Like, fashian-Ian?" Liam asks. His teeth are really very, very white, Nick notices. 

"Yep, 's him." Nick's already most of a bottle of champers and two cocktails down, which is probably why the next thing out of his mouth is, "Want to say hi?"

"Really? Would it be alright?" It's daft how excited he looks at the prospect of meeting Ian Chaloner, given he's mates with Harry bloody Styles.

"Yeah, come on, then. This way."

Nick'd left them all in deep discussion of Pix's new boyfriend and whether the fact that he's a premature ejaculator but excellent at oral means she should just dump him, or put in the effort to train him up. He suspects Liam would spontaneously combust at that sort of talk so it's probably a good thing that everyone falls silent when they approach. 

"Ta, Grim," Aimee says when Nick passes over her drink. "And who's this?"

Nick tugs Liam forward; he'd been standing half-behind Nick like he's shy or something. "Everyone, this is Liam, Liam, this is everyone."

Liam does another queen wave, then holds out his hand to Pixie, who's sat closest, like he he wants to shake. Nick really should've given Liam a chance to get a drink before they'd left the bar; at least it would've kept his hands busy. 

"Hi, Liam," Pix says, leaning in to take Liam's hand. She's grinning, which always means trouble. "I'm Pixie, nice to meet you. How do you know Grim?"

"He's the trainer Hazza leant me," Nick says, before Liam can open his mouth. "Liam's been torturing me this week with press-ups and fresh air and other horrible things."

"Ohh, you're _that_ Liam," Aimee says, which makes no sense because Nick's mentioned Liam to her maybe once. Twice, maximum. "I'm Aimee, good to meet you." 

Ian, next to her, smirks at Nick as he offers his hand and introduces himself. Okay, so maybe Nick might've been whinging a bit off-air this week about how horrible it was to be made to run around and get all sweaty by someone who looks like David Beckham. He's never been one to suffer in silence.

"Hey Liam," Pix says, with a sly look at Nick. "D'you want to join us for a drink? I reckon anyone who has to make this whiny twat exercise deserves one."

Liam almost bounces on his feet. "Really? That'd be sick - I mean, if it's alright with you, Grim?" He turns to Nick with that hopeful look on his face, and Nick can't bring himself to say no, even though the girls'll probably eat him alive. Innocence doesn't last long around this lot.

"Course," Nick says. "If your mates won't miss you?"

"Nah, they've probably gone on already," Liam says. "I'll just get myself a drink, then - anyone else need anything?" Everyone shakes their heads, and he says, "Okay, be right back."

Nick watches him go, his broad shoulders moving easily through the crowd. When he turns back to the table and slides into his seat, Pixie's rolling her eyes at him. "Grimmy, put your tongue away, you're practically salivating."

"I am not, shut up."

"You really are," Alexa puts in. "But come on, Grim, your trainer? Really? Could you be any more of a cliché?"

"There's nothing going on!" Nick protests. "He's straight!"

"I mean, I agree, he's quite fit," Pix says, ignoring him, "but he's not really your type, is he?"

"What d'you mean, not my type?" Nick demands. "You don't think I could pull someone that fit?"

"No, I mean - he seems really nice."

"And?"

"Well, you don't really do nice, do you? You do sarcastic and pretentious and bitchy."

"Probably cause you only fuck models who're on permanent diets," Alexa puts in, picking the pineapple slice off the side of her cocktail glass and nibling at it. "Always used to make me mean, being hungry all the time."

"Whereas I bet young Liam there just loooves sucking down a good protein shake," Aimee says, and the girls collapse into giggles. Ian rolls his eyes.

"Very funny," Nick says. "But I'm sorry to have to say that he is, sadly, straight, and he really is just making me do lots of lunges and things."

"Oooh, bet you'd rather be lunging at his thing," Pixie says, and they're off again, cackling. Then Alexa suddenly sits up. 

"Oh, shh, shh, he's coming back. Okay, first one to make him blush wins."

"What'd I miss?" Liam says, as he comes back and slides onto a seat next to Nick. "Anything exciting?"

"Oh, we were just talking about how my boyfriend suffers from premature ejaculation," Pixie says, and there we go, Nick thinks, we have a winner already.

Nick expects the rest of the night to go horribly badly, but to his surprise, it's good. Great, even. Liam doesn't stop blushing the whole time, but after his second drink he really loosens up. He's shy with Ian - starstruck? Not possible, it's _Ian_ \- but he lets the girls tease him mercilessly. 

"But the thing is, I didn't know Australia was on the other bloody side of the world, did I? I thought it was, like, in Europe somewhere," he says. "So I was on the phone to Hazza, and I was telling him, 'Don't worry, I can be there tomorrow, you're fine,'" and Harry was going, 'You really can't,' and we went on like that for about five minutes before he realised."

Aimee's staring. "No. Really? No way. How did you not know where Australia is?"

He shrugs. "I've always been shit at geography. Failed most of my A-levels. But hey, I've got other talents." He tries to wink but his whole face squinches up instead. "Uh, though, I have to admit winking's not one of them," and everyone loses it, Liam included.

A bit later Nick and Pixie take to the dance floor, and soon afterwards Liam joins them, and there's another surprise. Nick's used to the awkward shuffle-dancing that most blokes do, and Harry's wild-limbed flailing is in a class of its own, but Liam's actually not bad. Not good, exactly, but not self-conscious, and he puts his whole body into it. He's lost his overshirt somewhere between their table and the dance floor and the way his arms look under the club lights is something else. At one point he holds out a hand for Pixie to dance with him and they really go for it, grinding against each other hot and dirty. Nick tries to pretend he's not horribly jealous, but if the look Aimee's giving him is anything to go by, he's not doing a very good job. 

Then it gets worse: when the song Liam and Pixie are dancing to comes to an end, Liam actually spins her back around and presses his lips to the back of her hand, proper fucking James Bond style. Nick can practically see her swoon.

Liam leaves the floor after that to go and get a drink, and Pix dances back into Nick and tugs his head down so she can yell into his ear. "He's sweet, can we keep him?"

Liam's straight, Nick reminds himself. Straight, and anyway wouldn't be interested in an ageing radio DJ who practically expires at any hint of physical exertion. "I'm getting a drink," he yells back. "All of the drinks. You in?"

Pixie grins. "Shots?"

 

The sound of his phone ringing drags Nick out of his hungover slumber the next morning. He flails around in his thankfully empty bed - he can't quite remember the end of last night but at least it doesn't look like he brought anyone back that he might regret - until he gets his hands on it. It's Harry, of course. Everyone he'd been out with last night would know better than to ring him this morning.

"Mooooorning Grimmy," Harry says, bright and chirpy. Nick makes an appropriately disgruntled sound and Harry goes on, "So, you and Liam got pretty cosy last night, huh? Something you want to tell me?"

That jolts Nick awake. He hadn't, had he? Surely not. He knows better than to snog straight boys like Liam, even when he's completely bladdered. "What are you talking about, Styles? You weren't there, as I recall."

"Ah, so you haven't seen the photo of you and Leemo?" Harry says. "Check Aimee's Instagram. Go on, do it now. I'll hold."

That's ominous. Nick takes the phone away from his ear and fiddles with it, thumbs clumsy, until he pulls up Aimee's Insta. The top picture is one he doesn't remember her taking last night, though he does recall having nicked her giant fuck-off sunglasses out of her bag for a laugh and posed in them, pouting. What he doesn't remember is that he apparently had an arm around Liam's shoulders at the time, and in the picture Liam's looking up at him, caught mid-laugh, eyes all squinty and happy. She's captioned it: _posh and becks?_

Huh. Well, if that's what Harry's on about, it's nothing. Nick and Harry have done a lot worse themselves. He brings the phone back to his ear. "We were just messing around, having a few laughs, that's all. He's a surprisingly fun bloke, your Liam."

"I know, s'why he's my mate," Harry says.

"Mmm." Nick stretches out on his bed. "Speaking of, don't suppose you've got any other mates who look like footy players but who are actually into men, do you? Cause I tell you what, if you've got a gay Ronaldo lookalike that you've been hiding from me I'm going to be very annoyed."

There's a pause, and then Harry says. "He's not told you yet, has he."

Nick groans. "Not this again. Told me what?"

"I'm going to kill him," Harry says. "He fucking promised. Sorry, Grim, got to go. Talk to you later. Bye!"

Nick stares at the _Call Ended_ screen on his phone until it clears back to the home screen and he registers the time: nine o'clock in the morning. Fuck it, mysteries can wait until the afternoon at the very earliest. Nick rolls over and goes back to sleep.

 

The second time he wakes it's to his doorbell going off. He fumbles around in the sheets for his phone and checks the time: eleven o'clock. Bloody hell, what is wrong with everyone today? Don't they know it's Sunday morning, the sacred time of lying in bed feeling sorry for what you did the night before? He's just contemplating ignoring whoever it is and trying to go back to sleep when it goes off again. He hauls himself out of bed with a groan. He's only in his pyjama pants so he grabs the closest T-shirt he can find and pulls it on, then stumbles down to open the front door.

Liam's standing on his doorstep. He's got his sunglasses on but he flips them up when he sees Nick. "Hi, Grimmy. Can I come in?"

Nick blinks. Liam looks unfairly chipper, except for the dark circles under his eyes, and he's in his usual workout gear. "We didn't schedule an extra training session while I was too drunk to realise what I was doing, did we?" Nick asks.

"No, um. I've got something I need to tell you." Liam seems to finally notice Nick's silk pyjama pants. "Oh, shit, sorry, did I get you out of bed?"

"Yeah, but never mind." He opens the door wider and waves Liam in. "Harry already woke me up this morning, mumbling about you having to tell me something, so better get it over with. Come on, come in." He leads Liam down to the living room and waves him onto the sofa. "Sit. Can I get you a drink?'

"No, thanks."

"Hang on a tic, then, I'm parched." Nick ducks into the kitchen and finds some juice that Harry'd left last time he'd brought breakfast. He swigs it straight from the bottle and when his mouth no longer feels like something died in it he goes back out to Liam, who's fidgeting on the sofa. "Okay. Go on, then what is it?"

"Right." Liam takes a deep breath and clenches his fists. "So. The truth is. Actually. Um. I'm not - I'm not actually a personal trainer."

Nick's not sure what he was expecting to hear, but it wasn't that. "You're not?"

Liam darts a glance at Nick, then looks back down at his hands. "I mean - I was, obviously, like, I used to be, I'm qualified and everything, but I don't do that anymore. Except for Harry, but he doesn't pay me or anything, it's just a favour between mates."

"So - why on earth were you pretending to be one, then?"

Liam looks miserable. "It was Harry's idea. He knew I fancied you, he's been teasing me about it for ages. He set it up so I could meet you."

Nick's brain's stuck. "You fancy me?" he repeats.

"I'm so sorry," Liam says, going on like Nick hadn't interrupted. "It was absolutely wrong of me, I should never have let Harry do it. And I should have told you the truth before, but I really wanted you to like me."

"Liam. You fancy me? 

He's blushing. "Yes?"

"For ages?"

"Yes?"

"So you're not straight?"

"No?"

Christ. Nick lets out a long breath. "Okay. I'm going to need a minute for that to sink in, so in the meantime, let me make sure I've got this right. You fancied me, and instead of just asking Harry to introduce us, you pretended to be a personal trainer?"

"Yeah."

Nick's baffled. "Why on earth would you do that?"

"Um. Well. Harry said you don't normally go for nice guys? And also, um. He said if you saw my arms a lot it might help."

"Well. I guess he got that part right, at least."

"Really?"

Nick shrugs. "Couldn't hurt. Though you're quite fit all over, to be honest."

Liam almost squeaks. "You think I'm fit?"

"Have you not seen yourself? Do you not own a mirror?"

"No, but, like. _You_ think I'm fit?"

"Did you not notice the way I've been staring at you all week?"

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit. So." It seems almost too good to be true, that someone as young and fit and genuine and nice as Liam would be interested in Nick, but Nick's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He spreads his hands out over his knees. "What now, Liam Payne? You fancy me, I fancy you, the world is our proverbial oyster; what's next?"

Liam's frowning. Nick suspects he'd lost him at 'proverbial', but finds he doesn't mind; confused is quite good look on Liam and Nick loves it when his audience thinks he's clever. "Liam," he says. "Never mind. Just - what would you like to do now?"

"Oh, right," Liam says. "Did you, um. I'd really like to kiss you?"

Nick's hungover, and he could probably do with a shower and another litre or three of fluids. But Liam's sat next to him and he's looking at Nick but his eyes keep flicking down to Nick's mouth. If Liam wants to kiss Nick when he looks like this, who is Nick to argue? He leans in, and Liam leans in and then they're kissing.

Liam's mouth is as good as it looks: slick and lush and generous. He kisses like he's desperate for it, like he's been wanting it for ages. Maybe he has. His hands, though, are cheeky, running up and down Nick's sides, light and tickling, driving Nick mad. After a minute Nick can't take it anymore, pushes him back so he's lying on the sofa, gets a grip on Liam's wrists and pins them on either side of his head, gently enough that he could get away if he wanted. But Liam doesn't even try. Instead he groans into the kiss, muffled by Nick's mouth, and arches up so Nick can feel the hard line of Liam's cock pressing against him.

"Definitely - not straight, then," Nick mumbles into Liam's mouth.

"No." Liam pushes up against Nick's hands but just a bit, like he's testing, and when Nick presses down more firmly he shudders. 

"Like that?" Nick asks, and it's ridiculous, because Liam's at least twice as strong as Nick, he could easily break free if he wanted to. But Liam nods. 

"Yeah, please."

Nick kisses him again, because he can't not. Liam's rocking his hips up like he doesn't even realise he's doing it. His cock must be getting uncomfortable trapped against his zipper like it is, but when Nick releases one of Liam's wrists so he's got a free hand to help him out, Liam pulls away. "No, wait."

Nick lets go of him instantly. "No?"

"No, I don't mean stop touching me. It's just." Liam bites his lip, full and pink, and says, "Will you fuck me? I'd really - I've been thinking about it."

That was not what Nick had been expecting to hear. Christ. "You're a man of many surprises, Liam Payne."

"Um. Thanks? That's a good thing, right?"

"A very good thing."

Liam's still worrying at his bottom lip like he's uncertain. "So - will you?"

"Jesus, Liam, yes. How could I say no?"

"I think people think - you know, because I work out a lot - that I wouldn't like it that way?"

"A lot of people are idiots." Nick stands up, ignoring the undignified way his cock's tenting out his pyjama pants. "Come on, it's still Sunday morning, which means we are fully justified in going back to bed."

 

Liam's awkward again once they get into Nick's bedroom. Perhaps it's how bright the room is; and maybe half past eleven is an odd sort of hour to be having sex for the first time, but as far as Nick's concerned this whole week has really just been foreplay, so he's been waiting long enough. Anyway, Liam's possibly the fittest person Nick's ever pulled, it's not like he could have any reason to want to hide in the darkness.

"Come here," Nick says, tugging Liam out of the doorway where he's lingering. "Still want to do this?"

"If you had any idea how long I've been thinking about it - " Liam stops. "Yeah."

"Good." Nick pulls his own T-shirt over his head and shoves his pyjama bottoms down. If Liam's going to run at the sight of Nick's less-than-sculpted body, better that he find out now. "Get naked, then, I've been wondering all week what you look like under those clothes."

As it turns out, Liam, naked, is a revelation. He's got muscles where Nick didn't know muscles could be. He's got tan lines, too, from his vests and workout shorts. They should look stupid but somehow they just serve to emphasise how fit he is, crisscrossing his pecs and shoulders.

Nick could spend hours just admiring him, but Liam's still looking bashful, so Nick crowds him back onto the bed and crawls up over him, pinning Liam's wrists to the bed and kissing him until he's moaning and pushing up into it. 

When Nick drops his own body down to cover Liam's and their hard cocks brush together, Liam shivers.

"Please," he says into Nick's mouth. "I can't - you can't do that or I'll come, and I want to wait until you fuck me."

Well. Nick likes a lad who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to ask for it; he just never in a million years would've pegged Liam for one. Still, he can adapt. He rolls off Liam and pulls open his bedside drawer to look for supplies. The lube's right at the front, so he tosses it onto the bed and goes back to the drawer to find a condom. He's got to get the cellophane wrapping off a new box - always at the most awkward moment - so it takes him a minute, and when he finally gets one out and turns back to the bed, Liam's got one knee bent practically up to his shoulder and two fingers curled into his hole. Nick's jaw drops open.

Liam notices his expression. "Harry likes doing yoga," he says, by way of explanation.

"Can we not talk about Harry right now?" Nick says, because Christ knows Harry's fit, and normally Nick'd be happy to sing his praises til the cows come home, but the truth is Harry's got nothing on Liam right now, naked and fingering himself open for Nick's cock.

Liam huffs out a laugh. "Sure." He pulls his fingers out and Nick tries not to stare at the shiny pink of his hole. Then he rolls onto his hands and knees and looks over his shoulder at Nick. "Fuck me?"

Nick doesn't need to be asked twice. 

Liam's hot and tight and the muscles of his back are sharply defined, moving beautifully under his skin as he arches into Nick's thrusts. He moans like he was made for it, like he's been waiting his whole life for Nick to fuck him, like he's never had anything better. 

Nick tries to hold off, to show Liam he's got some stamina here, even if he's rubbish at exercising, but Liam's arse feels too good around his cock, and it's not long before Nick's close. It's probably fortunate, in a way, because his legs are still pretty sore from Thursday's session and he wouldn't be able to keep this up for long.

"Gonna come," he gasps out, rutting into Liam's arse in short sharp thrusts.

"Please." Liam's not touching himself, hasn't asked Nick to, though he must be desperate. "Do it, Nick. I want to feel you."

Nick's a lot better at following Liam's suggestions in the bedroom than in the gym. He slams in hard, two, three, four times, grip tightening on Liam's hips, then stays deep as he comes. Liam makes more noise about it than Nick does, groaning and clenching around Nick as Nick shudders through the last of his orgasm. 

When Nick gets himself together enough to pull out, gripping the base of the condom, Liam's still not touching himself, though he's practically shaking.

"Please," he says, "please, Nick."

Nick ties the condom off and drops it over the side of the bed; disgusting, but he's got more important things to deal with right now.

"On your back," he says, urging Liam over, and Liam goes easily, legs splaying out for Nick to kneel between. His cock's flushed so dark, standing straight up over the patch of dark wiry hair. 

"What do you want?" Nick asks, running his hands up the inside of Liam's thighs, making him shiver.

Liam shakes his head, like he's too far gone to care. "Whatever you want, anything."

A dangerous invitation. Nick wants everything: he wants to keep Liam like this, desperate and begging, until Nick's hard enough to fuck him again; he wants Liam to ride him, so he can watch those exquisite muscles in action; he wants to make Liam wank himself while Nick watches, so he can see him blush and stammer and need so badly that he can't help himself.

But not today. Today, Nick just wants to make Liam come. He considers for a long moment, then ducks down to take the head of Liam's cock in his mouth at the same time as he pushes two fingers back inside his arse.

Liam comes with a shout, hips coming up off the bed, hole spasming around Nick's fingers. Nick sucks him through it, swallowing rapidly to stop the bitter come spilling out of his mouth, until Liam's shivering and pushing him away. Nick lets Liam's softening cock slip out of his mouth and draws his fingers out, earning one last shudder, before dragging himself up to collapse next to Liam on the bed.

"God, Nick." Liam sound wrecked, like he's the one who's been sucking cock. "That was brilliant."

"I know." Nick's heart's thudding away. "Fuck. I can't believe we could have been doing that for a whole week, and instead I've been doing sit ups. Lunges. Christ, Liam, you made me go _running_."

"Sorry."

Nick pokes him in the side, aiming for soft belly but finding nothing but muscle. Bloody gym addict. "So you should be."

"Though," Liam says slowly, and Nick can hear the smirk in his voice, "you've got to admit a bit of exercise might be good for you, your stamina could do with some work - hey, hey!" He brings his arms up, trying to fend off the pillow Nick's hitting him with.

"I'll stamina you, you cheeky bugger," Nick says. He gets three good whacks in on Liam's laughing face and then subsides, dropping the pillow back on the bed. "You know," he says, after a moment, "Harold's going to be unbearably smug about this."

"Just like always, then?" Liam grins. "I don't blame him, though, like - if he hadn't set this up I'd probably never have met you, and right now I'm pretty bloody glad I did, aren't you?"

Nick certainly is. In fact, for the first time in a long time, Nick thinks maybe the universe wasn't just playing a horrible trick on him when it decided to parade an uninterested Harry Styles around in front of him all the bloody time. 

"Let's not tell him," Liam says suddenly.

"What?" Nick’s three steps behind, still contemplating the mysterious workings of the universe. 

"Let's not tell him," Liam repeats. "It'll be funny, you know how he gets when things don't go his way, and he was so proud of himself for playing matchmaker. We'll tell him - oh I dunno, but we'll make something up, something good. He’ll be sulking for days."

Nick can feel the grin spreading across his face. "You're secretly a little bit evil, Liam Payne," he says, "and I think I like it."


End file.
